


Summer wine

by trainsimulator



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, Phil is a cowboy in this one, that just happened ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 14:17:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15390579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trainsimulator/pseuds/trainsimulator
Summary: Phil meets Dan in a bar somewhere in the southwest of the USA.





	Summer wine

**Author's Note:**

> When I was wondering what to fill the blank of this Sunday's prompt with, "Summer wine" came to mind, a song I really used to love (and still love, I noticed). Check it out if you like! <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Swav5nd-xOs> So this was somewhat inspired by its lyrics.

The bar is a bit too loud for his taste, with music coming from an old-fashioned jukebox and the chatter of the patrons, but the aircon is a welcome change from the heat outside that lingers in the streets even at this time of night. Also, between drinking from the minibar in his room in solitude and this, he’d much rather be here, surround himself with people and distract himself.

Phil glances around the room, then decides to take a seat on one of the stools at the bar, putting his cowboy hat next to him on the counter and running his fingers through his hair, trying to rearrange his quiff which has been matted with sweat. It’s the time of summer when the temperature doesn’t drop much at night anymore in this area, and even those few hundred metres from his motel to the bar have left Phil with a sticky feeling and the wish to take a shower yet again, or just jump into the nearest river.

“Hi, what can I get you tonight?”, the bartender asks, and when Phil looks up, he actually for a moment doesn’t remember anymore. This person is _pretty_ , with a nest of brown curls falling into his forehead, and it finds Phil unprepared to be looking into very dark eyes which focus him expectantly.

“Budweiser?”, the other prompts when Phil doesn’t reply for a moment, or even so much as make any indication he’s even considering his options, and Phil clears his throat, trying to refocus on the task at hand.

“No, thanks, I’d like a glass of wine, please,” he says finally, and the bartender looks a bit embarrassed.

“I’m afraid wine isn’t really our specialty... you can basically choose between red and white? I’m really sorry,” he explains, but Phil shakes his head.

“That’s fine. White, please,” he says, and watches the other grab a glass and pour wine from a greenish bottle. 

“There you go. I’m sorry,” the other adds again when placing the drink in front of Phil. “Most people in here drink beer, so that’s why we don’t really keep a big stock of wines.” He smiles apologetically, and Phil smiles back.

“Maybe I don’t like the taste of beer.”

He feels the bartender’s gaze linger on him for what feels just like a split second too long to be normal.

“Maybe you don’t.”

# # #

The wine is nice and cool, and between sips Phil watches the bartender wash glasses, dry them and put them away. There is something about his hands he really likes, he finds. They aren’t even that pretty, with rather big fingers, but there is something in the way he moves them when handling the glasses that makes them look elegant nevertheless.

“So, cowboy,” the bartender says, and Phil raises his eyebrows, looking up from the other’s hands to his eyes again, which he still finds unsettlingly dark. “Take part in the rodeo, did you?”

Phil nods. “Yeah, but it wasn’t that good. I hope I can do better in Arizona in a few days.”

“What place did you come in?”, the other asks, drying his hands on his tea towel before hanging it up to dry.

“Second,” Phil says, finishing his wine and noticing the bartender look surprised.

“But this is a big rodeo. Being second is still really good,” he says, but Phil shakes his head.

“No one cares about the runner up, do they,” he shrugs. “’Oh look, he’s the second best at calf roping!’ No one ever said that.”

“They better should. Personally, I’d literally break my neck if I attempted calf roping, so I admire everyone who even survives,” the bartender states, and Phil laughs. “Have another glass? On the house. You know, comfort wine. Prize wine. Whatever,” he blushes, and Phil smiles, pushing his glass closer to where the bartender is already raising the wine bottle.

“Just that one though,” Phil says. “Gotta hit the road tomorrow.”

“Too bad,” the other replies, and Phil could swear that there was this gaze again, this one-split-second-too-long gaze.

# # #

When Phil steps out into the night, the summer heat envelops him again, and an instant light sheen of sweat is forming on his forehead. He definitely needs to take a shower again before sleeping, he thinks as he makes his way down the few steps to the sidewalk. He turns to the right, into the direction where his motel is located down the road, and listens to the jingle of his spurs in the quiet night until he can hear someone from the alley between the bar and the next building.

“Hey cowboy,” someone calls quietly but distinctly, and when Phil turns around it’s the bartender alright, leaning against the wall next to the employees’ entrance with what appears to be the white wine bottle in hand. Phil hadn’t seen him anymore after a trip to the restroom, just a blonde girl working the bar who he had left the money for his wine with.

“Hey,” he calls back, stepping closer to the other. In the harsh glow from the neon light above the door his eyes are slightly lighter, a warm brown now, and Phil smiles. “Taking a break?”

“Nah, finished for tonight. I was just, you know.” He trails off, looking here and there and back at Phil, and Phil meets his gaze, slightly confused.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Phil says, and then the bartender reaches out to one of the tips of his bolo tie and turns it between his fingers, looking at it for a moment before looking back at Phil.

“If this is just wishful thinking, please stop me,” he says in a low voice, still looking intently at Phil while finding the other end of his bolo tie and pulling him closer, and there is just enough time for Phil to notice a silly amount of tiny moles and freckles on the other’s face before he kisses him, carefully first, then more demandingly, and Phil gives in for a moment before pulling back slowly.

“I’m sorry,” the bartender blushes, letting go of Phil’s bolo tie, but Phil shakes his head.

“No, _I’m_ sorry, it’s just... people don’t usually approach me like this. I’m sorry, I was... surprised, I guess,” he stutters, and the other frowns.

“Why don’t they? You’re beautiful.”

“I... I don’t know what to say to this,” Phil mumbles, but the bartender just shrugs.

“Well, you are. Listen, I’m just gonna be blunt, as you’re leaving tomorrow and I have nothing to lose anyway, ok?”, he asks, and Phil nods, too taken aback to reply anything. “I’ve been wanting to leave with you from the moment you sat down,” the bartender flatly states, looking straight at Phil. “I think you’re hot, and I just really want you to take me somewhere and help me pass the time.” He pauses, still looking at Phil and pushing his hair back from where it’s hanging low in his forehead. “Too straightforward?”

“No,” Phil murmurs, stepping closer and this time it’s him initiating the kiss, and he can feel the other’s hands grab the back of his plaid shirt, his chest and crotch pressing up against Phil. He runs his fingers through the other’s curls as they part for air. “I don’t even know your name,” he whispers, and the other smiles, his lips slightly reddened.

“It’s Dan. Technically Daniel.”

“I’m Phil. Technically Philip,” he replies, and kisses Dan again before they step out of the neon glow and into the night.


End file.
